


A Place To Rest (Part 7/?)

by rubycrowned



Series: A Place to Rest [7]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, WIP, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you know where your love is? Do you think that you lost it? You felt it so strong, but nothing's turned out how you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place To Rest (Part 7/?)

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT AND WAITING SO LONG FOR THIS (well long in the context of my usual updates at any rate). Big props to Zee for beta-ing in my hour of need this afternoon (sorry Ari for not letting you prepare yourself this time...). Omg, song this chapter is another The Fray song (I'm actually getting predictable aren't I?) - this time it's 'Look After You'.

The tour was  _long_.

It was intensive. Ten weeks of near solid performances was always going to be draining and, as anticipated, Zayn’s delaying preparation for it only lead to even harder rehearsals once they touched down in the States.

The tour seemed to visit what felt like every single city in North America; there were close to 50 main gigs, plus the promotional gigs alongside the interview circuit. Not only did it cover the US but a decent number of concerts were also held in Canada, and a couple were performed when they dipped down into Mexico. Zayn fell into his usual practice of completely forgetting where they were, or heading, and simply asking someone else before they went on-stage who it was he was supposed to be thanking that particular night.

But it was more than that.

Zayn was an old hand at this by now; long days, often longer nights, cramped tour buses and far too much takeaway. He had been doing this for seven years now, travelling and performing and maybe wearing himself out more than he should; but hey, there were rest days for a reason and he could deal with it. And yet, this time, Zayn found himself yearning for home, counting down the days ‘til he could fly back to England in a way that he couldn’t ever remember doing before. Not even that first time, young and excited and overwhelmed, when homesickness was hiding in wait for any moment when it was just a little too quiet in Zayn’s head.

He knew the difference this time; sometimes, he’d even let himself admit it. That being separated by an entire ocean and multiple time zones from Liam and Ana was more painful than leaving home had ever been before. Even though - and maybe because - they often seemed so close Zayn could almost touch them.

Zayn Skyped them when he could; usually every couple of days if he could manage it; generally, he had a break mid-afternoon after sound-check and before concert prep that coincided well with just before Ana’s bedtime. He rationalised his frequent calls when he saw a rugged-up Anastasia cosy and warm in her father’s arms, grinning and waving still-chubby hands at the screen. After Liam had told Zayn about her ‘queries’ regarding his absence, Zayn hadn’t wanted her to go too long without seeing him, wanted to make sure she knew that Zayn was safe, happy and healthy. It might not have been entirely true; he wasn’t entirely happy without his irregular family, and it was the lower chuckle more than the childish giggle it accompanied that sent the wide, warm smile spreading across Zayn’s features. But those were not things which she’d be able to tell, or which a three-year-old needed to know. For Ana, it was enough to see her favourite uncle pulling faces at her, reading a picture book he had found at the bookstore for her bedtime story, and making smoochie noises to the cheek she pressed up to the camera before Liam carried her off to bed; a dull ache was always left in Zayn’s chest as his laptop beeped the call’s disconnection.

While he had tried not to get his hopes up, he had thought he might have seen them at least once while he was away, and so his spirit had drooped a little about a month in when Liam had turned down the invite to have them flown over for a few days while Zayn was in Florida for a couple days rest. Zayn had thought that Ana might enjoy visiting Disney World; she loved the animated films almost as much as her Dad (unsurprisingly, considering the amount of exposure she got). While Zayn had definitely not planned it all out in his head (mouse ears and teacup rides and gorging both himself and Tas on far more junk food than was wise), he was still disappointed when Liam gently suggested that maybe it’d be better if Zayn spent the break recuperating between concerts; after all, Anastasia wouldn’t even remember the trip probably if she went now. Maybe in a few years.

Zayn was torn after that discussion; his deflated heart had picked up a bit at the off-hand promise of “in a few years”, at the idea that a trip like that would still be an option for them that far in the future. It was still a shutdown though. And Zayn knew that what Liam said was true, but it wasn’t as though they couldn’t have come over anyway; cost wasn’t exactly a barrier, and god knew that they’d all had family and friends – and girlfriends - flown out to see them on tour at some point or another. It didn’t need to have been a big deal.

Zayn didn’t say anything though. He just let Liam explain to him that Ana really was still too young to travel on a long haul flight, while Zayn tried to figure out where exactly he stood at the moment with Liam.

Liam needed time to think; Zayn knew that. Had known it as they lay in bed the morning he left and the silence filled the air after Zayn had finished speaking. Liam needed time to figure out what it was that he wanted, what he and he alone needed right now; whether – and how –  Zayn fitted into that picture.

And Zayn needed his own space; a chance to clear his head, figure out just how much he was willing to do for Liam, because he knew that if they did this, they were  _doing_  this. That much had been made certain, and it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them. Yes, there was another person to consider, someone who didn’t deserve to have her world turned upside down any more times in her short life. And yes, there was Liam, healing slowly, although still mangled and scarred just beneath the surface.

But there was also Zayn.

Zayn, who had never been able to make a relationship last a year, no matter how hard he dragged at the remnants of it. Zayn, who had realised late in his teens that his sexuality wasn’t exactly in accordance with the heteronormative, but who had never really been given, or given himself, the chance to find out what that actually meant. Who only knew boys, men, as something to slide his gaze over before directing it to a more ‘appropriate’ target; to tug discreetly into a darkened alley, or a fancy (lonely) hotel room; something to use and find what small pleasure he could.

Zayn. Who was quite frankly terrified of his own feelings. Scared shitless by his realisation that he knew exactly how much he would give of himself to Liam. For Liam. Anything.  _Everything._

Who doubts every look, every smile in their own conversations; late enough in Zayn’s time zone when he finally gets back to his room or his bunk in the bus, a ridiculous hour back in England. Liam turns up anyway, rumpled and sleepy, but there. Always there, and yet the glow his presence brings out in Zayn is always tempered by insecurity; every hesitation, each time a weary hand runs through his hair (flailing slightly as it meets air too soon – he got it trimmed again not long after Zayn left) it’s as though someone starts to press against the wall of their balloon. They aren’t trapped in a delicate bubble anymore; hope has strengthened the walls just enough, but too much pressure and it will still burst just as easily.

There was hope though - and it fluttered against Zayn’s ribs when he let himself push aside the doubts - that maybe it would all work out. He could make it all work out.

But there was only so much he could do from halfway across the world.

He missed Liam. He missed both of them.

He missed the Zayn he was around them.

The tour was long. But it’d be over soon.

And then he could go home.

***

Liam helped Zayn carry his bags through the airport and out to the car so that Zayn could leave a hand resting on Ana, keeping her steady as she rode head and shoulders above everyone. Her legs were locked around Zayn’s neck and her small hands alternated between yanking her fingers through his unstyled hair and patting fondly at his stubbled cheeks, as if reassuring herself that her uncle was really there.

She had managed to wriggle out of the clutch Liam had on her hand to more or less launch herself at Zayn as soon as she had spotted him entering the arrivals lounge. Since then she had refused to be detached from him, clinging stubbornly to his side and demanding Zayn’s attention.

Liam was more…restrained, Zayn supposed, in his greeting. But he couldn’t hide the way his face lit up when Zayn grinned at him, all of a sudden oblivious to whatever story Ana was jabbering in his ear as Zayn took in what a grainy webcam could never do justice to.

Liam. He looked good. Not that this was exactly news to Zayn, but he was looking more like Liam, his friend, rather than Liam, recent widower. As much as he’d been improving in the months before Zayn left on tour, Zayn could already sense a lightness about him that had only very rarely shown itself up until then (the day of Anastasia’s birthday was probably the most prominent example in Zayn’s mind, but he didn’t want to think about that right now – not until they’d had the discussion that they’d promised they would have on Zayn’s return).

He still looked tenser than Zayn would’ve liked, his stance not quite as loose as he was trying to portray, and the smile was quickly brought under control. But when Zayn reached him and brought him in close for a one-armed hug, Ana half-trapped between their chests, Liam relaxed into the embrace.

Zayn had pressed his face into the fabric of Liam’s hoody, inhaling the scent from it and pressing himself closer to the other man; at that moment he didn’t really care if anyone could see them, if they were questioning their behaviour, or if anyone had a camera trained on them right now. No matter what else they were, they had been the best of friends first, and this had  _always_  been how they interacted. Zayn wasn’t going to deny himself of it now.

Because, as he carefully lifted Ana off of his shoulders - making her shriek with laughter when he pretended to drop her before placing her into her car seat in the back – and his eyes followed Liam as he walked around to the driver’s door, Zayn knew.

He was home.

***

“Maybe it would be a better idea if you didn’t worry about unpacking yet?”

Zayn stopped at the doorway and turned to look askance at Liam; it may have come out a question, but there was enough of something, determination maybe, in his tone that Zayn didn’t really think it had been meant as a suggestion.

It was starting to get late and Zayn had figured he’d best go unpack now before he got too tired; he knew from years of experience that if he didn’t get everything away pretty quickly then he would wind up living out of his suitcase on the floor for about a week until he ran out of clean clothes.

And since Anastasia had finally been put to bed after almost falling asleep cuddled into Zayn’s side on the sofa, Zayn was still standing from carrying her to her bedroom and tucking her in; it made him more motivated than if he was once again cosy and settled on the couch. Liam even offered to make them tea and if Zayn really got moving then he could probably have the majority shoved in drawers or thrown in a pile in the laundry by the time he was done.

He’d said as much to Liam, but then Liam had spoken and now Zayn was frozen, not quite out in the hall, as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the words.

Zayn had thought Liam might speak again, offer up some sort of explanation to him, but Liam was standing awkwardly at the other side of the room now, part way to the kitchen and suddenly seeming unsure of himself.

“I, uh…okay? Any reason why not?”

Liam exhaled heavily and scratched at the back of his head, tugging on the hair there – a gesture Zayn knew meant Liam wasn’t comfortable with the situation – before moving back towards the sofa and looking up at Zayn. By this point Zayn was standing by the coffee table next to him, instinctively following Liam when he moved to sit.

“I…we said that the tour was going to give us time to think, yeah?”

The promise of tea seemed forgotten, and a heavy feeling began to settle in Zayn’s stomach; he wasn’t sure he was going to like what would follow those words, judging by what he saw when he looked into Liam’s eyes.

Here it was, then. The conversation Zayn knew was coming, and which he had been so hopeful about, finally so sure in his own feelings, even if they did terrify him.

 “Yeah, Li. We did. And I thought a lot about it all, about us. Did you?”

Liam was enough of a hope – a promise for something bright and shiny and true - to keep Zayn grounded in his fears and insecurities; he was enough to stop him from running.

“Same. I mean, yeah. I spent a lot of time thinking about it too. And I guess- I think that maybe it’d be a good idea if you moved back home.” For a second, Zayn was genuinely confused; this  _was_  his home, even if he didn’t actually own it. It was more of a home to him than- oh.

“You want me to go back to my apartment?”

What if Zayn still wasn’t enough to keep Liam here next to him?

“Yeah,” Liam’s voice was barely audible, and he wouldn’t look Zayn in the eye, ducking his head instead. Zayn sort of wanted to tease him because his fringe wasn’t long enough anymore for that action to hide him from view, but this felt a lot like rejection and he was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

“Why?” They both ignored the crack in Zayn’s voice.

“This was never supposed to be permanent. You’ve been there for me so much since…for the last few months. I needed someone and you were there and you know I’ve appreciated it,  _we’ve_  appreciated it, I mean Ana loves you to bits,”  _But_ , “I just figured you’d rather go back to your own place. This isn’t the life you chose. A three year old that isn’t yours. Me. You should go and do whatever you want to be doing, have fun; shag a string of girls, or boys, or whatever. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Since when have I ever told you that that isn’t the life I chose? You think you forced me to stay here? This isn’t supposed to be about any of that. This is about you and me. About how you feel about me.” Zayn tried to disregard parts of Liam’s speech, because it sounds rehearsed, forced. Designed to hurt.

“I  _feel_ …” Liam met Zayn’s gaze and his face was blank, “I feel like I was widowed a week after I turned 23. Like my world was turned on its head and seven months later I’m only just finding my feet again, only just remembering how to function as me. I feel like Anastasia is the most important thing in my life right now and she doesn’t need anything more confusing in her life. And I thought you’d understand that.”

Liam hadn’t answered a single part of Zayn’s question, and this wasn’t the Liam Zayn knew; it wasn’t the one who always dealt with the issue, who didn’t necessarily enjoy doing it but would always face it head on. Zayn wondered how long this had been building, if this was the reason for the nagging feeling that Zayn had felt for weeks that Liam was pulling away from him. But then he thought of dim lighting and Liam staring bleary eyed at his laptop at 4am with his blankets rucked all the way up around his neck and the computer balancing on his chest talking about anything and nothing. He recalled the way Liam gripped his waist that afternoon at the airport when Zayn hugged him. And he remembered Liam still hadn’t actually told him how he felt. Not about Zayn.

“You know what  _I_  think?” Zayn was trying to be gentle, but his voice was slowly rising and for the first time in almost as long as he could remember he realised he was  _angry_  with Liam. “I think you’re avoiding the question. I think you feel something here too. I think you’re shit scared because you feel something and you know it’s about as far from nothing as you can get and that terrifies you because yeah, last time you let someone become part of your world like that, when you let that someone  _become_  your world, you lost them. But I’m not asking that of you. You loved Danielle, I know that, and I know that she shouldn’t have died and that she should still be here with you and Tas and you should be young and happy and here and together, and I would be young and mostly happy somewhere else. I know that. I know that everything still seems wrong without that, and that it maybe hasn’t been enough time for you to let go of that future. I know that others watch what we do and don’t get it because you’re you and I’m me and, completely disregarding the obvious issues people have with that, they think that Danielle’s barely cold in the ground and you’re busy playing happy families with some guy. I know you care about that, what others think. You think I’m not frightened too? You hinted at it yourself; I have a certain reputation, and it’s definitely not one of perfection. I’m a total fuck-up, really. And I’m constantly scared that I will just end up dumping a whole pile of that on you and Ana because the idea of screwing you up with my shit makes me want to puke. But guess what. None of that matters. It really,  _truly_  doesn’t. You go what you go through and you feel what you feel, and if you have a chance to be  _happy_? You’re supposed to take it.  _You_  are enough to make me want to stay and figure it out. Am I enough for you?”

Liam wasn’t looking at Zayn, and there was only a ringing silence holding them in that moment that felt like an age.

And then Liam looked up, and there weren’t tears this time, but his voice was hoarse and straining as the words tumbled out. An apology.

“I can’t.”

Zayn left the room.

***

Zayn’s phone rang.

He saw the light glowing in the darkness over on the floor, halfway across the room; he must have left it in his pocket when he shucked his clothes off after he got back to the apartment.

Sluggishly, and with some frustration (it’s 4:15am for fucks sake, if he’s reading his alarm clock correctly) he disentangles himself from the single sheet covering his bed. It’s getting close to midsummer, and tonight was one of those rare nights where, even naked and alone in his bed, it was too warm to be really comfortable. Still, Zayn had always liked having something pulled up and tucked around his shoulders while he slept.

He finally found his phone just as it clicked over to voicemail, but since he was already up he figured he might as well answer it anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Zayn? It’s Liam. I need you. Please...it’s Ana.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY BOUT THE CLIFFHANGER.
> 
> ALSO: Letting you know that we are now on the home stretch of the fic (yayyyy - or boooooo I suppose if you really love me that much). All going to plan /next weeks update will be the last chapter excluding the epilogue/. Just a heads up.


End file.
